My Uncle in New York
by CeliaAlice
Summary: Sequel to City of Lights


My Uncle in New York  
  
By Celia Sequel to "City of Lights" Different city. Same couple! If you haven't read City of Lights, you won't get all the jokes, so go back find it! This story picks up the very next day.  
  
Disclaimers: Stolen characters (also, I've stolen one very real celebrity) Rating: PG-13. For language and strongly implied sexuality. Feedback? I'm at celia1972@yahoo.com  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
"Excuse me, my boyfriend's luggage is missing."  
  
Josh grins and nuzzles my cheek. I giggle and finger his lapel. The clerk behind the Air France counter rolls her eyes.  
  
"Let's see your claim tickets."  
  
I pull them out of my pocket (I would never entrust a claim ticket to Josh). "Right here." The woman looks the tickets over and disappears into a back room.  
  
"You called me your boyfriend," teases Josh.  
  
"Was that presumptuous? I just assumed after you told everyone on the plane that I was your sweet pea."  
  
He whispers in my ear, "Call me your boyfriend again."  
  
I address an imaginary audience: "Hello, have you met my boyfriend, Mr. Joshua Lyman, Oh excuse me, perhaps you didn't know, my boyfriend's name is Josh Lyman. Maybe you didn't hear? Josh Lyman is my boyfriend."  
  
He ends my little speech with a soft kiss.  
  
Mmmmmmhhhh.  
  
"Lyman?" bellows the Clerk.  
  
Josh doesn't take his eyes off me. "Yeah."  
  
"Fill out this form, and we'll ship it to you. Your luggage is in Barbados.  
  
"Maybe we should let it stay and get a tan," I muse.  
  
"I love losing luggage with you," coos Josh.  
  
His phone rings. "Josh Lyman," he answers, and mouths the rest silently, "Donna's boyfriend."  
  
I sigh contentedly. At this moment, I am positive that nothing will ever go wrong again.  
  
Josh scratches directions on the luggage form while he talks to the office, "what do you mean, we lost Melville? Melville gave me his word. Who else?"  
  
His expression darkens. My mood shifts to worry.  
  
"I'll be there in thirty minutes." He pops the cell phone closed.  
  
"Damn."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"We had 51 votes before the Paris trip, and now we have 49."  
  
I know which bill he's talking about. H.R.1033 cleared Senate committee last Thursday. It was a sure thing.  
  
"When did we lose the votes?"  
  
He looks guilty.  
  
Oh no.  
  
Could ten hours of incredible sex between two very deserving adults really endanger the United Nations Cooperative Licensing Effort for Cleaner Lakes and Streams (U.N.C.L.E. Clean)?  
  
"Josh, is this our fault?"  
  
"Probably not?" he answers weakly.  
  
"Mr. Lyman?" asks the Clerk.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Let me get this right: you want us to address this luggage to  
  
"Donna's Boyfriend, Joshua Lyman, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW"?"  
  
"That's exactly right."  
  
"You wanna show me some I.D.?"  
  
PART I  
  
"I have a delivery for Donna's boyfriend, Joshua Lyman," says the courier.  
  
"SHHHH!!!" I hiss. It's too late. At least eight different faces in the bullpen turn away to snicker.  
  
"It says right here.Donna's boy."  
  
"Please! That's enough! You've got the right place."  
  
"He's gotta sign for it."  
  
"I can sign for him."  
  
"Are you Donna?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He takes a moment.  
  
"Well, I guess that's all right, what with you being his."  
  
"Shhhhh!!! Stop saying that!"  
  
"Well, are you his girlfriend?"  
  
"I'm his assistant."  
  
"It says right here to deliver this to Donna's boyfriend,"  
  
"All right, yes," I whisper, "I'm his girlfriend; could we please get this over with?"  
  
"You know, whoever this guy is, he deserves a girl who isn't ashamed of him."  
  
"I'm not ashamed of him! He's wonderful! I'm crazy about him!"  
  
"Who are you crazy about?" says a familiar voice  
  
I turn to face the White House Press Secretary.  
  
"Nobody."  
  
"See that's just what I'm talking about!" accuses the Delivery Guy.  
  
"Please, just let me sign for the luggage," I beg.  
  
CJ becomes perversely helpful.  
  
"What seems to be the trouble, Sir?"  
  
"Is this woman named Donna?"  
  
"Yes," replies CJ.  
  
"Is she the Donna who is currently dating Joshua Lyman at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?"  
  
CJ doesn't even blink. "That would be impossible."  
  
"Then who's gonna sign for this luggage?"  
  
"I will."  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"That's not important. In fact, nothing to do with this luggage is even remotely important to anyone in any way. Should a journalist approach you about this luggage, I would appreciate it if your response reflected that lack of importance. Do we understand each other?"  
  
The Deliveryman squints at C.J. and purses his lips.  
  
"Sign here."  
  
I meet Josh outside of Leo's office. He's on a tear.  
  
"Where are our votes?"  
  
"They're not in Michigan," I reply.  
  
"What?"  
  
"U.N.C.L.E. Clean provides for an International Conference to take place in January of next year."  
  
"In Michigan?"  
  
"In Detroit, Michigan."  
  
"By the Great Lakes?"  
  
"Exactly. Except a party on the Special Council for U.N.C.L.E. Clean is withholding its support. They want the Conference moved."  
  
"Thus denying Detroit hotels of a January windfall.."  
  
"Michigan's tourism revenue was down by 15% last year."  
  
"Where do they want to move the Conference?"  
  
"Paris"  
  
Josh gulps.  
  
"The French?"  
  
"We smoked them on the Trade Agreement."  
  
"This is a revenge thing?"  
  
"American cars will be 4% cheaper in France next year."  
  
"Oh Christ."  
  
"I spoke to Kristy in Senator Melville's office. You will not get your Michigan votes until the U.N.C.L.E. Clean conference moves back to Detroit."  
  
"Who would want to go to a conference in Detroit, when they could be going to Paris?"  
  
My lips curl up against my will. The thought of Paris makes me wiggly and happy.  
  
"I can't imagine."  
  
Josh's eyes flash. His voice gets a little squeaky.  
  
"I can't either."  
  
"I think everyone should go to Paris," I croon.  
  
"As often as possible."  
  
"I missed you this morning."  
  
"Senior Staff was endless without you."  
  
"You've got a little schmultz in your eye."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Right here, sweetie, let me."  
  
"MARGARET?" howls Leo from inside his office.  
  
Margaret scurries out from around the corner. Has she been listening this whole time?  
  
"Get housekeeping on the phone. These two clowns need a bucket of cold water."  
  
****  
  
The office is stone silent. Josh's hands are cupped in his lap. He's staring downwards. I sit up straight, my eyes on the wall. Leo reviews a fax from the French President.  
  
He snorts.  
  
"Leo," begins Josh.  
  
"I'm not finished."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
I glance around the room nervously. My ankle begins to quiver. What if I'm fired? Does the White House have some kind of fraternization policy? I struggle to remember my orientation five years ago. It seems like there was a convoluted paragraph about "general professionalism" and certainly a Sexual Harassment section, but obviously, this isn't harassment, because Josh and I are in love, and well, now that I think of it, we harass each other constantly, but it's consensual harassment. Is that a legal term? "Consensual harassment." I don't want to have to hire an attorney, just to date my boyfriend, but I really don't want to stop working in the White House. I'm good at my job! My recent efforts in France have helped to secure the most favorable trade agreement between the U.S. and France since the Marshall Plan. How could wiping some shmultz out of Josh's eye cancel out six years of loyal service to President Bartlet and everything he stands for? I'm not going to stand for this! I am a loyal American!  
  
"I am a loyal American!"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Oh Jesus, I'm speaking out loud again.  
  
"Leo, I think what Donna's trying to convey is."  
  
"You two really smoked these Frogs. They want blood."  
  
Josh's eyebrows fly up.  
  
"That's right, we did and they do."  
  
"The U.N. Economic and Social Council meets on Friday. I want you two on a plane to New York. That conference is happening in Detroit, or we will all be eating cold escargot."  
  
"Actually, escargot is frequently served cold."  
  
Leo and Josh both stare at me.  
  
"But that doesn't matter, really."  
  
"Get out of my office, both of you."  
  
We leap out of our chairs.  
  
".and Donna?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"He's still got some kind of crap in his eye. Get it out before he makes an ass out of himself, would you?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
PART II  
  
The cab line at LaGuardia is a mile long. It's April, but still very cold. I pull my raincoat tightly around me, and push our bags forward in line. Josh is on the phone with our Ambassador to the U.N.  
  
"Well, I appreciate your candor, Martin, but the bottom line is I'm not going to tell Melville to grow up and get over it. He's a swing vote on the Education bill. If I piss him off now.don't tell me how important lakes and streams are! I love lakes and streams!"  
  
He makes an exasperated gurgling noise in the back of his throat. I look ahead in the cab line. Just beyond the dispatcher's booth, a striking fur-clad brunette stands idle as her driver loads Prada luggage into the back of a Mercedes. She seems familiar.  
  
Josh hangs up, and puts his arm around me for warmth.  
  
"Ya know," I comment, "It's funny, that woman reminds me of Alaine."  
  
"Paris Alaine?"  
  
"Yeah, wouldn't that be ironic if."  
  
Josh follows my gaze. His voice grows wary.  
  
"Donna, which woman reminds you of Alaine?"  
  
"In the fur, by the Mercedes."  
  
"This isn't happening."  
  
She turns and spots us. It is Alaine.  
  
"What is she doing here?" I hiss.  
  
"I don't care, as long as she hasn't got her boss with."  
  
As if on cue, the French Minister of Trade and a large retinue stride out the automatic doors of the airport. Alaine waves cheerfully and begins to walk toward us.  
  
"These people are relentless!" I cry.  
  
"Shhhh.she'll hear you!"  
  
Alaine smiles brilliantly.  
  
"Monsieur Lyman, Mademoiselle Moss!"  
  
"Alaine, so nice to."  
  
Alaine kisses the air on either side of our cheeks. The end of my nose almost crashes into her huge Gucci sunglasses.  
  
"You weren't expecting us? No? You both look well."  
  
"Nous sommes si heureux de vous voir."  
  
"Oh no," says Alaine, her voice growing sinister, "I think we'd better stick to English in the future, Donna, don't you?"  
  
"If you prefer."  
  
Her tone shifts to kittenish solicitude "After all, we are in your country!"  
  
"Are you headed to the U.N.?" inquires Josh.  
  
"Ah, no. not yet. I believe we're staying at the Plaza?"  
  
"I didn't know the Trade Minister took an interest in U.N. affairs."  
  
"He has many interests, but we must not discuss business! We must meet for dinner, yes? I'm sure the Minister will be just as pleased as I am to hear that you are both in New York. We were so sorry that we could not say good- bye properly in Paris."  
  
Josh knows he's trapped.  
  
"Give Donna a call and we'll set something up."  
  
"Of course, where are you staying?"  
  
Josh looks at me.  
  
"The Marriot," I confess.  
  
"Mmmm.. in Times Square?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'd offer you a ride, but I'm afraid the limousine is full. The minister is traveling with a reduced entourage, but, still, you understand?"  
  
"Of course." I answer, and remember to push our luggage up a place in the cab line.  
  
"We'll meet soon. So nice to see you both!"  
  
The Mercedes backs up to collect her. Josh waves to the Minister and helps her into the car. When it pulls away, we both groan.  
  
"Get on the phone and set up a meeting with the French UN ambassador. Then call the Plaza. We should send them some kind of poisoned fruit basket."  
  
"We can't send them a poisoned fruit basket."  
  
"How about one that just tastes really bad."  
  
"Josh, I think we actually need to do some sucking up here."  
  
He sighs.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right."  
  
"I'll call and send flowers. We should take them to dinner. It's our country, remember?"  
  
"Yeah. Look, you got to know this woman pretty well in Paris, right?"  
  
"Sort of."  
  
"So find out what they're after. Get her alone and ask her questions. You know, win her over"  
  
"What do you want me to do? Take her for pedicures and a girly-brunch?"  
  
"That's brilliant!"  
  
"Josh! I am a professional political operative! I will not resort to girl- talk and nail polish! I cannot believe how condescending."  
  
"OK, OK, just do whatever it takes. You totally snowed this woman in Paris! You did great! Just do it again."  
  
"Well, I kind of gave away the secret weapon, remember? She knows I speak French now."  
  
Josh takes me by the shoulders.  
  
"I have a lot of confidence in you, Donna."  
  
He knows he's won. I can't say no to him when he believes in me.  
  
"OK. I'll give her a call when we get to the hotel."  
  
"Donna?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What exactly happens on a 'Girly Brunch'?"  
  
****  
  
"Alaine?"  
  
"Oi."  
  
"This is Donna."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Donna Moss from Josh Lyman's office."  
  
"Of course, who else?"  
  
"Um.I was wondering. You know, probably your schedule is crazy tomorrow, and, you know.Ha! This must be impossible. REALY impossible. But if you would like to have lunch.?"  
  
"I'd love to. How is one o'clock?"  
  
"Uh. sure. One o'clock works."  
  
"Meet me at the hotel. I know a lovely little place just around the corner, right by all the shops."  
  
"Oh, I am sure that you don't have any time for."  
  
"Nonsense! I have the whole afternoon while Francois is in meetings. We could go to the salon perhaps? I'm dying for a pedicure! Now, about dinner."  
  
Damn it all to hell.  
  
Josh returns from the embassy in a rare mood.  
  
"These U.N. bureaucrats are complete amateurs. They let this whole issue get away from them without even making a call to Washington."  
  
"Maybe they just wanted to go to a conference in Paris?"  
  
"You bet that's it! These cheese-loving fat asses didn't even consider the conference a major bargaining issue. They've got a multi-million dollar international environmental conference with huge publicity value, and they trade it for some obscure language on fishing licenses. Fishing licenses!"  
  
Josh tosses himself onto the couch.  
  
"How was your evening?"  
  
"I've got your schedule for tomorrow. You're meeting with the French Ambassador at 9:30. The rest of the day is on the printer. I pulled some stuff on U.N.C.L.E. Clean. Press releases, the usual."  
  
"Good. Hey, can you get some biographical stuff on all these guys? I don't know who I'm talking to here."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"You wanna order some dinner, or."  
  
"I made a date with Alaine."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Lunch. Tomorrow."  
  
"So, you're free now?"  
  
"Are you asking me out?"  
  
A smile starts to spread over his face.  
  
"I'm definitely asking you out."  
  
He snakes out of the chair and joins me on the bed.  
  
"I'd rather stay in," I purr.  
  
Josh curls his hand around my hip.  
  
"That's my girl."  
  
****  
  
Jet lag and lust are a difficult combination when you have a 9:30 am meeting on the other side of town. At 8:45, Josh is glued to his pillow and my right thigh.  
  
"Honey, we have to get out of bed. The cab ride alone will be twenty minutes."  
  
"We can take the subway," mutters Josh.  
  
"That won't be any faster. You've got to let go of me, so I can get dressed!"  
  
"I like you just the way you are."  
  
He plants a soft morning kiss on my shoulder. My determination wavers. His tongue sneaks along the edge of my ear. I whimper.  
  
"Let's be bad," urges Josh.  
  
I'm so incredibly turned on by this idea. Josh moves his hand gently over my belly. His kisses move slowly down my neck. My mind drifts back to our perfect ten hours in Paris. and. Alaine.  
  
"Josh, I have to get out of this bed!"  
  
Oh Christ! I am so not prepared to meet Alaine! My hair needs a wash! My best suit is wrinkled! I fly out of bed, and dive into my suitcase.  
  
Josh looks a little hurt.  
  
"You don't want to be bad?"  
  
"I do, I really really do, just not at this exact moment. Where is the iron in this room?"  
  
We arrive at the French Mission to the U.N. only 7 minutes late, which is really more polite than being on time anyway. The Ambassador's secretary, Natalie, is tiny, sweet and looks like she could dance Giselle at any moment. She takes one look at us and immediately fetches 2 espressos. I love her.  
  
"Would it be possible for me to hook up a laptop?"  
  
"Of course, there is a guest office right this way."  
  
I leave Josh in the Conference room and follow Natalie down a corridor. As we turn into the guest office, I catch sight of the Trade Minister as he ducks into the men's room.  
  
"Excuse me," I ask Natalie, "was that the Minister of Trade?"  
  
"Yes, he had an early breakfast with the Ambassador. They are old friends. He and his wife visit frequently."  
  
"His wife?"  
  
"Yes. I don't believe she joined him on this trip."  
  
I feel a jolt of pity for Alaine.  
  
The Guest office has a stunning view of the East River, a DSL connection, and lots of little collectible pens that say "Euro Disney" on them. I hook up my laptop and immediately start running google searches.  
  
My first entry is: "d'Armanac, Francois, Minister of Trade"  
  
PART III  
  
Josh's meeting is only twenty minutes long. We compare notes on 47th St.  
  
"Did you offer to give the fishing language back?" I ask.  
  
"He doesn't want it back. He was completely intractable."  
  
"What is the language anyway?"  
  
"It's a joint promise to better regulate salmon fishing worldwide."  
  
"We want to protect salmon?"  
  
"No. The Canadians want to protect Salmon. They traded some shellfish language for American support on the salmon language," explains Josh.  
  
"So can we offer the Canadians something else for the shellfish language?"  
  
"It doesn't work that way. The Canadians are happy with their salmon language. We'd have to give them something even better than the shellfish language. But I'm not sure that would work anymore because the Spanish really love the new shellfish language, so now a third party is involved."  
  
"You mean a fourth party?"  
  
"You're right! Because the Norwegians also like the salmon language."  
  
"I meant us! We're the fourth party. Because we traded the salmon language for the Conference!" I cry.  
  
"That's the other thing. No one wants to go to a conference in Detroit."  
  
****  
  
"I've got to tell you, Donna, I don't hear nice things about this Detroit."  
  
Alaine smiles indulgently and pops a tiny bite of tuna tartare with caviar into her perfectly drawn mouth.  
  
It takes me a moment to respond. Alaine's "lovely little place around the corner" is Daniel. The prix fix lunch menu is more than my monthly car payment. My government entertainment allowance tops out at $35. I am seriously concerned about how to pay for this meal.  
  
"But if the conference isn't in Detroit it won't happen at all!" I maintain. "If the U.S. doesn't sign off on U.N.C.L.E. Clean, the entire resolution will be killed. Surely everyone will be willing to endure 2 weeks in Detroit, if it means saving lakes and."  
  
"Ah, yes, lakes and streams? You know, when I was growing up, my grandmother had a house in Switzerland, right by the most beautiful Alpine lake. Even at its center, you could see the bottom perfectly."  
  
"That's just what I'm talking about."  
  
"You Americans are so curious. Every industrial nation in the world is willing to sign this resolution, except the United States, and yet, somehow, you have claimed the moral high ground for yourselves?"  
  
"I'm not here to support Senator Melville's actions, I'm just here to save U.N.C.L.E. Clean. Sometimes, in a Democracy, contradictory interests."  
  
"Let me ask you something, Donna, are you in love with your Boss?"  
  
I nearly choke on my sorbet.  
  
"I thought we were discussing lakes and streams?"  
  
"Yes, but that bores me terribly."  
  
Alaine regards me with a look that is one part maternal concern and two parts lascivious glee. I take a sip of wine and collect myself.  
  
"I'll answer if you will."  
  
She throws back her head and laughs.  
  
"I love a worthy adversary. We must order more wine!"  
  
Economic panic sets in.  
  
"Alaine, I really shouldn't be."  
  
"Nonsense. Francois is on very good terms with the management here. The meal will be free. We should take advantage."  
  
I remember that Daniel has its own chocolate menu, and say a silent prayer of thanks.  
  
"Maybe one more glass."  
  
Two hours later, Alaine and I are coasting down 57th Street with numerous jewel-box-like shopping bags. The bags all belong to Alaine, but I feel quite important just carrying one.  
  
At Ungaro, the saleswomen seem to smell my companion's purchasing power the moment she walks in. Alaine casually flips through hangers of delicate silk blouses, while they hover devotedly. They treat me with more reserve, unable to determine if I am her personal assistant or poor relation.  
  
"I brought something to wear for dinner, but I might like a little jacket to go over it. It's so cool here!" comments Alaine.  
  
"Oh, you should be fine with just a sweater, Josh and I thought we'd keep it casual for tonight."  
  
"No! But I thought I told you, we are all expected at the Rainbow Room-The 'Save Venice' dinner? I made special arrangements!"  
  
"The Rainbow Room? A benefit? Alaine, I don't have anything with me that I could possibly wear to."  
  
"Of course, how thoughtless of me, but it isn't a problem. We are the same size, yes? I have the perfect thing."  
  
I freeze. The corrupting power of couture sweeps my senses. Alaine doesn't wait for a response.  
  
"I'll send it over to the hotel directly. You'll look marvelous. Your Josh will be dazzled. Excuse me while I try this on."  
  
The saleswomen, sweating with obsequious greed, escort her to an upstairs dressing room. I flop on to a couch and try to sort my muddled thoughts.  
  
The phone rings.  
  
"Donna Moss."  
  
"It's me," says Josh, "where are you?"  
  
"I'm.with Alaine," I stutter, unable to admit to our shopping-related activities.  
  
"Can you talk?"  
  
"Yeah. She's.stepped away."  
  
"I'm reviewing all this biographical stuff you gave me. Hey, where did the Minister get all this money?"  
  
"I'm kind of curious myself."  
  
"Well, when you get back to the hotel, look into it, will you?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Are you OK?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You sound a little uneasy."  
  
"Josh, we have to go to the Rainbow Room tonight."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'll explain later. Just try to get back to the hotel by six. I'm going to  
  
try to find you a tuxedo."  
  
"Why do you sound so worried?"  
  
"I'm fine. How was your meeting with the Canadians?"  
  
"They won't budge without a promise from the Norwegians. That's my next meeting. I'm chasing fish all over town."  
  
"I've got to get off the phone. Good luck with the Norwegians."  
  
Josh's voice gets tender. "I miss you."  
  
"Me too."  
  
I hang up and dial my best contact at the SEC. He answers on one ring.  
  
"Gary, it's Donna, can you pull any stock ownership info you find on Francoise d'Armanac? He's the French Minister of Trade."  
  
"Sure. You think you've got a conflict issue?"  
  
Hmmm.I don't want to raise suspicion.  
  
"No. Not at all. It's just a routine thing. In fact, pull everything on the following names."  
  
I make a list of all the U.N.C.L.E. Clean players: the Minister, the Ambassador, Melville, even Josh.  
  
"Sure thing. Are you in a hurry?"  
  
"Definitely. Oh, and Gary? Look at anything fish related in particular. Canneries, boats, anything like that."  
  
"Sure."  
  
Alaine returns in a floor length custom embroidered ball gown.  
  
"How do I look?"  
  
"Wow. It's incredible."  
  
She looks lovely, and also vaguely creepy. I make a terrible faux pas.  
  
"Alaine, does the Minister pay for all this?"  
  
Her eyes go dead for just a second, but she recovers quickly.  
  
"Of course, my dear. You don't think I could possibly afford this dress? My advice to you is get everything in your own name. The clothes, the jewelry, the house, all of it-and get it quick. Men are fickle."  
  
A cold lump slides into my throat. Does Alaine mistake me for Josh's mistress?  
  
The Marriot Marquis is a wonderful hotel. It has about 12 glass elevators, a sushi bar, terrific cosmopolitans, and a manager who can procure a tuxedo in under an hour. Now if only Josh were here to try it on.  
  
He hasn't called for a couple of hours. I pour a bath and reflect on our new relationship. Obviously, I'm not Josh's mistress. For one thing, he isn't married. Doesn't a man have to be married to have a mistress? Of course, our arrangement isn't exactly standard. Technically, I am sleeping with my boss. That sounds horrible.  
  
I'm not sleeping with my boss. I'm sleeping with my wonderful, marvelous brilliant.. supervisor? Oh hell. I can't really think of another way to describe our situation, except to say that I never intended to sleep with my boss. No. That isn't right. I've wanted to sleep with Josh for years.  
  
And he's wanted to sleep with me too. Of course, that's not how I'd explain it to say, my Dad. What would my Dad think? My Dad doesn't like any of my boyfriends at all. What would he think if he knew about all of Josh's miserable screwed up past relationships? Of course, I know that those relationships were a mess because they weren't with me, but other people might think Josh was a womanizer or.  
  
Josh isn't a womanizer. I'm absolutely sure of that. If other people think that, then they're just wrong.  
  
What do other people think? Does everyone think the same thing as Alaine?  
  
I remember Leo, CJ and everyone at the White House. They don't think that Josh is taking advantage of me? Or that I'm sleeping my way up the ladder? I would never sleep my way anywhere! I'm a nice girl!  
  
"I'm a nice girl!" I shout.  
  
"Not too nice I hope," calls Josh from the next room.  
  
"Oh, Josh! Quick, you've got to try on this tuxedo in case it doesn't."  
  
I scramble out of the bathtub and into the next room.  
  
Josh drops his backpack on the floor. He's literally dumbstruck.  
  
"You're.all.wet."  
  
I freeze, suddenly aware of how naked I am.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
He swallows hard.  
  
"Super," he squeaks.  
  
I try to regain my concentration.  
  
"I got you a tuxedo. We don't have much time."  
  
Josh is still frozen. He takes a long look up my legs and across my body. I can hear us both breathing.  
  
"The benefit starts at eight," I chirp.  
  
"I'm going to ravish you now."  
  
I'm helpless. Oh God! Does that make me his mistress?  
  
Part IV  
  
Alaine's dress is a perfect fit. Several yards of sheer rose colored silk (Galliano!) cling suggestively to my hips and float decadently to my ankles. I look like a very expensive dessert.  
  
Josh comes out of the bathroom and trips over a suitcase. I help him up.  
  
"Where did that come from?"  
  
"Alaine lent it."  
  
"Do you have to give it back?"  
  
On the street, we discover that cabs are not easy to come by at 7:55 pm in the Theatre District. It's a short walk to Rockefeller Center, anyway. Times Square is packed with tourists, commuters, and. weird men. Several of them call out to me as we make our way across Seventh Avenue.  
  
"Hey Blondie! Look this way!"  
  
"Lady in Red, you are some kind of gorgeous! "  
  
Josh rests his hand on my hip protectively as I teeter in 3-inch heels.  
  
People stare.  
  
On our way into Rockefeller Center we are surrounded by a flock of society photographers. Josh seems unfazed. Of course, he's used to having his picture taken. Someone asks me to turn and model the Galliano. Josh smiles proudly as the flashbulbs blind me. Is this what it's like to date a powerful man?  
  
Our French companions are waiting upstairs. Alaine beams. A double strand of black pearls complements the newly purchased Ungaro gown.  
  
The Rainbow Room is spectacular. I can practically see Washington from the 65th floor windows. An opera singer, accompanied by a twenty-piece orchestra, sings Italian art songs. The white and gold decorations all conjure up Venetian street scenes. There is an ice sculpture of the Doge's Palace suspended above our table. I hope it doesn't melt.  
  
Conversation is surprisingly easy. Alaine must have prepared a whole list of lake and stream related anecdotes. She tells a really good story about a leaking rowboat on Lake Como.  
  
I watch her carefully throughout the meal. Her every gesture seems calculated to charm and impress. The trade minister is clearly smitten. He pats her hand from time to time and laughs delightedly at her jokes. She's like his very clever pet.  
  
It's not the Champagne that's making me queasy.  
  
As dinner winds down, the opera singer breaks into jazz standards and the orchestra switches gears. Alaine eyes the dance floor. I excuse myself to find the ladies room.  
  
My cell phone goes off.  
  
"Donna, it's Carol."  
  
"Carol? My God, you would not believe where I am."  
  
"I might. Look, I've gotta tell you. I just fielded a call from the NY Post. They want to know who Josh's new 'companion' is."  
  
"What?"  
  
"They already emailed me a picture. Where did you get that dress?"  
  
"How is that possible? That picture was barely taken two hours ago!"  
  
"Donna. I didn't give them your name, but I've got to let CJ know that they asked."  
  
"OK," I mutter.  
  
"Next time, you might want to look a little less.noticeable."  
  
Embarrassment creeps into my very core.  
  
"Carol, we had a meeting with the Trade Minister, it seemed fine, the dress was borrowed, and. I never meant for this to."  
  
"Look, you better not say anything else, because I have to tell CJ everything and. just be careful, OK? Anyway, there's another reason I'm calling: You've got a package from Gary Adams at the SEC. He said it was urgent, so I went ahead and opened it."  
  
"Did he find anything on the Minister?"  
  
"The Minister?"  
  
"On the Trade Minister, Francois d'Armanac?"  
  
"No. No, that's not the name I'm looking at. This stuff is all on Senator Melville."  
  
"What?"  
  
I step out of the ladies room to thundering applause. (Not for me, that came out wrong) There seems to be a change of singers. Everyone in the room is standing up, so it takes me a minute to get a good look at the stage. Is that Eartha Kitt?  
  
The band bursts into melody. I stand speechless as Miss Kitt launches into her trademark growl.  
  
"Oh, wow."  
  
I feel a warm hand slide down my arm to my wrist.  
  
"Dance with me," whispers Josh.  
  
Eartha vamps:  
  
"I'm just an old-fashioned girl, with an old-fashioned mind  
  
I'm not sophisticated, I'm the sweet and simple kind  
  
I want an old-fashioned house with an old-fashioned fence,  
  
And an old-fashioned millionaire."  
  
It's Alaine's theme song! I don't have time to contemplate that, though, because I'm already on the dance floor, swaying.  
  
"I'm just a pilgrim at heart, oh so pure and genteel,  
  
Watch me in Las Vegas when I'm at the spinning wheel  
  
I want an old-fashioned house with an old-fashioned fence,  
  
And an old-fashioned millionaire."  
  
Josh is not a flamboyant dancer, but he knows what he's doing. The skirt of the Galliano glides perfectly around us. The stars over Manhattan seem to swirl into the room like lightning bugs.  
  
"Josh, I learned one or two things in the Ladies' Room."  
  
"Are you sure you want to tell me about them?"  
  
"Not those kind of things! Honestly!"  
  
"Get ready, I'm going to spin you."  
  
Whoh! That was fun.  
  
"No, seriously, Josh, I got a call from the office."  
  
"Which office?"  
  
"Our office. Remember?"  
  
"I'm trying to remember this great trick I saw John Travolta do in."  
  
"This isn't that kind of a place! Josh, you've got to listen to me."  
  
"On this next step, keep your hands where I can see them, because you're going to."  
  
I twirl around his back.  
  
"... do what you just did. That was awesome. Are we good or what?"  
  
"We're good, Josh."  
  
It's true. People are starting to notice us.  
  
"What was it you wanted to tell me?"  
  
I lower my voice, as Josh and I duck between two other swirling couples.  
  
"I put a call into the SEC this afternoon. Gary Adams."  
  
"He's not one of your old boyfriends, is he?"  
  
"No, and even if he was, that isn't the point."  
  
We break for another spin.  
  
"Didn't someone named Gary take you for mini-golf or something?"  
  
"That was Barry. Barry took me for mini-golf."  
  
"I will never take you for mini-golf, Donna. Never. That's a solemn promise."  
  
He catches me by the waist. I'm so conscious of his body that it's difficult to concentrate.  
  
"And I appreciate that, but what I'm trying to tell you is that Senator Melville has a major major conflict on U.N.C.L.E. Clean."  
  
Josh stops so quickly that I almost crash into him.  
  
"I'm listening."  
  
"The senators oldest son, Bryant Melville, is the CEO and majority stock- holder in a massive Alaskan fishery. He could lose a huge percentage in revenue if the U.N.C.L.E. Clean regulations are adopted."  
  
"Who else knows this?"  
  
"It's just you, me, Gary and Carol."  
  
Josh stands still for a moment, in a strategic trance.  
  
"What do we do?" I ask.  
  
"We keep dancing."  
  
He pulls me into a clinch and we step into a tight rhythm. Eartha begins t o purr another song:  
  
"They asked me how I knew  
  
My true love was true  
  
I of course replied:  
  
Something here inside  
  
Cannot be denied"  
  
I have never danced so well in my life. Josh's lead is completely certain- almost domineering.  
  
"Shouldn't we be calling in the guards or reporting this or."  
  
"It's not that simple," Josh replies  
  
"He can't vote on this issue, can he?"  
  
"It would be complicated. The ethics committee would certainly be interested."  
  
"So let's get busy!"  
  
"Melville is the swing vote on Education. Give me a minute. This information could have significant value."  
  
"Don't we want to expose him?"  
  
"He hasn't voted yet, Donna. The ethics violation is still hypothetical. Also, not airtight. U.N.C.L.E. Clean has a lot of pages. It affects numerous industries."  
  
"But Melville supported the bill before the fish language was inserted. Remember? He gave you his word."  
  
"I remember."  
  
Josh pulls me a little closer. His cheek brushes mine, and we rock slowly to the music.  
  
"They said someday you'll find  
  
All who love are blind  
  
When you're heart's on fire  
  
You must realize  
  
Smoke gets in your eyes"  
  
"There's something else," I say.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The NY Post called Carol. They want to know who you're dating."  
  
Josh doesn't answer. He just squeezes me a little tighter.  
  
"She didn't comment, but she'll have to tell CJ."  
  
Josh pulls me around into a gentle turn. Our eyes lock. Why is he so quiet?  
  
"I guess we didn't really think any of this through too well," I continue, desperately.  
  
The tempo of the music increases. All around me, people are smiling and laughing. Their voices and faces meld into a chattery blur. Josh seems to channel all of his thoughts into the dance steps. We pick up speed and race across the floor, the train of the Galliano dress streaming behind us. I get reckless.  
  
"Josh, I'm not your mistress, am I?"  
  
He plunges me into a deep dip. I hover spellbound in his arms.  
  
"What did you just ask me?"  
  
A wave of fear grips me. I don't want to hear his answer.  
  
"Never mind!"  
  
I struggle to my feet.  
  
"Donna?"  
  
"I have to go!"  
  
"What? Go where?"  
  
I duck wildly through the crowd to the elevators. I never look back for Josh, but, as the elevator doors close, I hear the last lyrics of Eartha's song:  
  
"So I smile and say  
  
When a lovely flame dies  
  
Smoke gets in your eyes"  
  
** Special Notes: "Just an Old Fashioned Girl" by Marve Fisher "Smoke gets in Your Eyes" by Jerome Kern and Otto Harbach  
  
PART V  
  
By the time I get out on 50th St., tears are interfering with my vision. The doorman, looking concerned, finds me a cab in seconds. I get in quickly.  
  
"Where are you headed?"  
  
"Just drive around for a while, would you?"  
  
The driver nods his turban sympathetically.  
  
"Sure thing. You want a park view or a river view?"  
  
"River," I sniff.  
  
The recorded voices of the Rockettes remind me to buckle my safety belt as the cab pulls away from the curb.  
  
What am I crying for? I'm not completely sure. My feelings for Josh are so overwhelming that I can't express them rationally, even to myself.  
  
The bumpy ride of the cab smoothes to a gentle rumble as we pull on to FDR Drive. Across the river, the lights of the Brooklyn Bridge distract me from my tears. I grow calmer. We round the island, and I start to ask questions.  
  
"Is that Queens over there?"  
  
"That's Staten Island. Queens is in the other direction. Over this way, that's New Jersey."  
  
"It's a beautiful river in this light."  
  
"You wouldn't want to swim in it, though."  
  
I'm reminded of Alaine and her grandmother's lake house in Switzerland. I picture her as a little girl, staring off the side of a boat through clear Alpine water. How did her life get so murky and strange?  
  
"We're headed back uptown now. Can I drop you someplace?" offers the driver.  
  
I don't know what to tell him. I need a neutral spot.  
  
"Is there a good diner that you know of?"  
  
"My brother's diner! On 9th Avenue! We go there!"  
  
****  
  
The Galaxy Diner on 9th Avenue is comfy, clean and nearly empty. The walls are frescoed with colorful planets, spaceships, and stars. I sit at the bar and order a black and white milkshake. My designer ball gown and weepy eyes do not faze the management. They must be used to my kind of customer.  
  
This milkshake is really tasty. I gurgle through the last bit of it and decide to order another one. The front door of the restaurant jingles as a new customer steps in.  
  
"Hya Fellas, can I get some carrot juice?" calls a husky voice. I almost fall off my barstool.  
  
"Eartha? What are you doing here?"  
  
The iconic singer squints at me.  
  
"You're the girl who ran out on my act!"  
  
"I'm sorry. It was a wonderful performance. I was just having a personal. crisis."  
  
"You couldn't have waited?"  
  
Yikes. I really screwed up on several counts back there.  
  
"I really. I really made a mistake."  
  
Eartha softens a bit.  
  
"Honey, that is some dress you've got on. Stand up and model it for me, will you?"  
  
I dutifully get up and turn around. Eartha whistles appreciatively.  
  
"Galliano, right?"  
  
"Yeah. It's not mine."  
  
"You thought you'd turn into a pumpkin at midnight, did you, Cindy?"  
  
"It's actually Donna, and not exactly."  
  
"You left that boyfriend of yours in a real stew."  
  
"You noticed all that?"  
  
"Well, it's some dress."  
  
"I had a little panic attack," I explain.  
  
"You did, huh?"  
  
"My boyfriend and I."  
  
What am I talking about? Am I really going to confess my deepest fear to Catwoman?  
  
"Go on. I'm listening."  
  
"My boyfriend is a very powerful man; he's actually my boss, and he's got a very visible important job, and I'm worried that. I'm worried that."  
  
Eartha cocks an eyebrow, "Yyyeees?" she hisses.  
  
"I'm worried because he's so much more powerful than I am. I'm worried that I'll just get lost."  
  
"Cindy?"  
  
"Donna," I correct her.  
  
"Right. Let me tell you something about power. Power doesn't have anything to do with your job. You make your own power. It comes from inside of you."  
  
The whole diner goes silent, until a drunk man in the corner booth slurs, "She's absolutely right, ya know."  
  
The waiter brings Eartha her carrot juice.  
  
"What do I owe you, Sam?"  
  
"It's on the house, Miss Kitt. You know that."  
  
A huge bubble of gratitude and certainty wells up inside of me.  
  
"Thank you, Eartha!" I exclaim.  
  
She turns to me and smiles.  
  
"Do you love your man, Cindy?"  
  
"More than anything."  
  
"Then you better go find him before I do, because he is one fine looking specimen."  
  
****  
  
As I walk back to the Marriot, I prepare for Josh's questions. I wonder if he'll be irritated, or, worse? What did he say to the Minister and Alaine? Is he ready for his meetings tomorrow? My cell phone is blinking, but I don't check the messages.  
  
As the glass elevator takes me up to the fortieth floor, I decide to be as rational and calm as possible. I'll just explain that I needed a little air, and then I'll tell him about meeting Eartha Kitt, and that will distract him from the whole dance-floor debacle. And then we'll get on the phone and deal with this U.N.C.L.E. Clean crisis like the smooth professional team that we are. I will be smooth. Totally and completely smooth.  
  
I slide the key card in the door of our room and look for him.  
  
Josh is standing, stricken by the window. His tie is loose and the jacket of his tuxedo is crumpled on the floor. The phone dangles from his hand.  
  
"It's all right. She's here," He says to the phone, and then he crushes me in an embrace. My eyes tear up immediately.  
  
"I was so worried!" he cries.  
  
Forget smooth. I'm bawling here.  
  
"Oh Josh, I love you!"  
  
"I love you too."  
  
I cling to the fabric of his shirt and bury my head in his shoulder. Josh smoothes my hair gently while I cry. Then, slowly, he lifts my chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes are so concerned and curious and comforting that I smile a little. He kisses a tear from my cheek. I start to feel the heat off his body. My hands slide down to his chest. Josh pulls me just a little bit closer, so that I can feel his breath on my cheek. His arm slides possessively to the bare skin at the small of my back. I gasp, and turn my face away. This kiss is going to be so incredible, that I can't quite sacrifice my anticipation of it. Josh makes a low hungry noise and pulls the strap of my dress from my shoulder. I brush my nose against his, and his hand strays to the zipper at my waist. I finger the buttons on his shirt. The Galliano fall to the ground. Our eyes meet.  
  
"I want to kiss you," he growls.  
  
"I want that too," I whisper.  
  
His hand flies swiftly to the nape of my neck, and he pulls me into a fierce deep kiss. My knees collapse, just as Josh catches my weight and lifts me off my feet. As we hit the bed, he breaks away for a gasp of air.  
  
"Did you just swoon?"  
  
"Shut up and kiss me like that again."  
  
PART VI  
  
There's a curious buzzing sound coming from my evening bag. I flop my head out from under a pillow, and brush the hair out of my eyes. My evening bag is actually vibrating from the floor where I tossed it. That's kind of funny. How is it doing.. Oh shit. That's my cell phone. What time is it?  
  
I ease out of Josh's sleeping embrace and retrieve the cell phone.  
  
"Donna Moss," I mumble.  
  
"Good morning, Donna!" calls Margaret cheerfully.  
  
"Christ! Margaret, what time is it?"  
  
"It's six thirty, are you able to talk to Leo?"  
  
"Let me get Josh."  
  
"He doesn't want to talk to Josh."  
  
"He doesn't?"  
  
"Oh, and Donna? Before I put you through, I just wanted to let you know that you look ravishing in 'Page Six' this morning."  
  
****  
  
Josh and I sit in the window of a bagel shop and watch the traffic go by on Eighth Avenue. We've been weirdly silent all morning. I'm not sure how to tell him about my conversation with Leo. I need an icebreaker.  
  
"So, what's next for U.N.C.L.E. Clean?" I ask.  
  
"We let the Special Council do what it wants to do. At worst, the conference stays in Paris, and we lean on Melville to abstain on the Senate vote."  
  
"In which case, the Vice President will cast the deciding vote?"  
  
"And the world will enjoy cleaner lakes and streams."  
  
"And tastier fish?"  
  
"Presumably."  
  
"What if Melville votes anyway?"  
  
"Let's not go there."  
  
"I have to tell you something."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
I take a deep breath and brace myself. This is going to change everything.  
  
"I'm promoted."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Leo called this morning."  
  
His face freezes.  
  
"White House Special Policy Advisor on France and Liaison to the French Embassy."  
  
Josh isn't chewing his bagel. I babble on.  
  
"It's not really as big a deal as that title might.."  
  
His face is kind of twitching. He struggles to swallow the bagel.  
  
"Please don't be angry with me! Leo made me tell you!"  
  
Josh takes a tortured sip of coffee.  
  
"I'm not angry.I'm just a.I mean, that's.terrific. You, you really deserve this, and.. and."  
  
He goes silent again. His eyebrows knit into a clench.  
  
"Do you have to live in France?" he cries.  
  
"No.not at all. I'll still be in the White House, just on a different floor."  
  
Is he going to cry? I grab his hand and squeeze.  
  
"I'm going to miss you too," I whisper.  
  
"I know! I'm gonna. which floor?"  
  
I smile. He squeezes my hand and we let our knees meet. I watch his face try on about twenty different expressions. Finally, he just blurts it out."  
  
"Do you wanna get married?"  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"I said, 'do you want to'"  
  
"No. I heard you."  
  
"Well, why'd you ask me..."  
  
"Josh Lyman, did you just propose to me in a BAGEL SHOP?"  
  
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I was going to go to Cartier this afternoon, and I had a plan, but then I thought about you being all the way on another floor, and the words just snuck out, plus.. you asked me that mistress question last night, so I figured maybe you needed.Oh Hell! Forget I said anything. Can we try this again later?"  
  
"You can't take back a proposal, Josh. It doesn't work that way! We both know that you want to marry me now. You do want to marry me, don't you? This isn't just about the promotion or the whole mistress-thing, or."  
  
"Donna, I've wanted to marry you since I first saw you."  
  
Is the bagel shop spinning?  
  
"You're my one and only," he murmurs.  
  
The Punjabi guys behind the counter are listening intently. I hear one of them whisper to a customer, "Is she going to say 'Yes'? She should say 'Yes"!"  
  
I think about being married to Josh. It doesn't take me long.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Yes?" asks Josh.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"YES!"  
  
"YES!"  
  
"Yes to the proposal, right?"  
  
"Yes! Yes to the proposal."  
  
Josh moves in for the big kiss. The whole bagel shop explodes with cheers. The Punjabi guy yells, "Free Refills for EVERYONE!!!!"  
  
****  
  
All of these rings look exactly the same. Some of them just cost more money. We're still wearing our jeans and t-shirts from breakfast. The saleswomen at Cartier don't know what to do with us.  
  
"This one here is seven carrots."  
  
I glance at Josh. He shrugs.  
  
"I don't know anything about diamonds."  
  
"Should we really be supporting De Beers?" I wonder.  
  
"Do any of these diamonds not have an affiliation with those terrible commercials we see on T.V.?" asks Josh.  
  
This clerk really hates us.  
  
"Maybe you'd prefer a different stone?" she suggests.  
  
Josh's cell beeps.  
  
"Lyman."  
  
"What do you have in red?" I ask the clerk.  
  
"You mean a red diamond?"  
  
"Or just something sparkly?"  
  
She leads me to another display, while Josh takes his call.  
  
"Most brides prefer a diamond, but."  
  
Oh my god, that's the first time anyone has referred to me as a bride! I'm going to be a bride!  
  
"You're never going to believe this!" calls Josh.  
  
"Josh, I'm going to be a bride!"  
  
He grins hugely. "You're going to be MY bride."  
  
We break for a giggle fit. Josh leans in for an Eskimo kiss. The clerk makes a funny little huffing noise. Are we one of those irritating couples?  
  
"Um.so what were you saying before?"  
  
"Oh. That was the French Ambassador. He wants to split the U.N.C.L.E. Clean conference up. One week in Detroit and one week in."  
  
"Paris?"  
  
"No! That's the crazy thing. They want to do the other week in this remote village in the Alps. Isselwitch-by-the-lake or something. It's bizarre. Switzerland isn't even on the committee."  
  
I figure it out immediately.  
  
"Alaine!"  
  
Josh regards me with wonder.  
  
"I knew you could do it," he marvels, "You won her over!"  
  
****  
  
We haul into the West Wing at 10pm that night. There's a mysterious white package waiting on my desk. I untie the ribbon and pull aside the tissue paper.  
  
It's the Galliano.  
  
There's a note:  
  
"The whole world loves a lover.and clean lakes and streams."  
  
THE END! 


End file.
